


Remarkable

by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap/pseuds/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: Love, Blaise thinks, is missing someone when they are not near.Love is staying up at night and hoping for their survival.





	

By the age of eleven his mother is on her fifth husband. Sometimes he is afraid to blink because when he does a new man pops into his life demanding to be called ‘Sir.’ 

“Blaise, you’re off to Hogwarts tomorrow. We need to have a very important conversation.”

Blaise wonders what he could have possibly done wrong when he hasn’t even started school yet. He stares at his mother who is wearing a tight emerald green dress. She takes a seat across from him at their dining room table, a rare occurrence considering he usually eats alone in his room while the grown-ups talk. 

“Tomorrow you’ll be sorted and you’ll join a House and in that House will be young men and women. Blaise, you are officially a young man now. Do you know what that means?”

He shakes his head. His mind is reeling at the shrill voice of his mother. Zahara rarely spends time with him and when they are together it was to reprimand him for things that were out of his control. Breathing too loudly. Existing. 

Blaise doesn’t know if the deaths of her past husbands were due to poison or other tricks or if her presence literally sucked the life out of them all. 

“Women,” she says slowly, “are going to flock to you. They’re going to want to date you because of your status and wealth.”

Money. His mother is always going on about money. The first ‘Sir’ he remembers had only enough money to keep his mother occupied for six months. Six months later he mysteriously dropped dead. Blaise never saw his mother cry over any of her husbands. She always calmly walks into his room and announces she is looking for her next husband while she slips on a pair of heels and asks him if she looks better with her hair up or down. 

“Mum, I’m only eleven. I’ve never even kissed a girl.”

Her brown eyes flash angrily and she leans forward, both hands cupping his face tightly. The tips of her long red fingernails are digging into his cheek and Blaise winces as he stares at her. 

“Do as your mother says boy. Eventually you’re going to feel new emotions, your body is going to go through changes and all those silly little girls aren’t going to seem quite so silly. Ignore your instinct. Never fall in love Blaise. Zabini’s do not fall in love. It can destroy your life and leave you destitute, begging on the street like a lowly a House Elf.”

Blaise purses his lips together and then nods his head as his mother releases him. He does not want to disappoint her or bring shame to his family. Though he doesn’t understand what love is he knows he would never allow it to invade his life. 

Maybe, Blaise thinks, love was what his mother felt for her five husbands.

Maybe love has made her so cold. 

-x-

At Hogwarts, Blaise mostly keeps to himself. 

His mother had been right. In the beginning the girls did flock towards him but not in the way she had imagined. The boys did too. Slytherins, for their part, were not apt at whispering. Instead they loudly talked about him, around him, constantly questioning the mysterious deaths of his ‘fathers.’ 

They called his mother the ‘Black Widow,’ and had different theories on how she got rid of her husbands. Blaise would just try to make himself scarce and after almost four years most of the students had gotten tired of taunting him. It wasn’t fun if your subject didn’t take the bait. 

Girls were a foreign concept to him. Pansy Parkinson was the one he was closest to and most of their conversations were one-sided where she went on and on about Draco while he just nodded until it became too much and he had to snap at her. Still, Blaise felt a connection to Pansy. An understanding that they were different. 

She was taught at a young age her one purpose in life was to find a husband but she had the unfortunate problem of being born unattractive. Her face was too round, her hair too short and unladylike and she had such a shrill voice sometimes he felt like his ears were going to bleed. 

Blaise snaps out of his thoughts as someone rushes into the nearly deserted dark common room. Students are making their way back from the Yule Ball, something Blaise has no interest in but made an appearance to anyway in smart black dress robes for an hour just so he could say he went. The other Slytherins that are lingering around are younger and unable to attend, staring enviously at those who are recapping their night with excitement. 

Pansy makes her entrance, stomping towards him in frilly pink dress robes and a scowl on her red and blotchy face. Blaise can tell she has been crying because her eyes are puffy and red but he detests crying and hopes she won’t start up again. 

He leans forward in the leather chair he is lounging on and gives her a hard look. 

“It was completely embarrassing,” she snarls. A group of first years stare at her, trying to listen in on their conversation and Blaise points to his wand in warning. 

“What?” he asks calmly. “Slipped on the dance floor?”

She huffs and crosses her arms dramatically against her chest. “He deserted me.”

He knows she means Draco. Draco has been acting rather odd lately but he figures it is because he actually agreed to go to the ball with Pansy. He knows Draco doesn’t actually like her. He just likes the idea of her. 

“Hm.” 

Pansy rolls her eyes. “It’s like he doesn’t even care,” she says with a sniffle. “I work so hard to be by his side. I cheer him on for every little thing and I’m always there and just this once he couldn’t be present for me. I’m a Parkinson for heavens sake. What will my mother think?” 

Blaise gives her a bored look. Sometimes he wonders if he is too quiet because Pansy always comes to him with her girl problems. Last time he checked he was not a female and did not respond to female emotions. 

“Just move on,” he says, hoping it will be enough to appease her and end the conversation. Pansy sniffles and Blaise awkwardly shifts in his chair. “Or don’t move on. I don’t know, talk to him?” he offers weakly. He really does not know how to speak to girls. 

“I just wish I could find someone with a good bloodline, money and who cares about me. Is that too much to ask?” 

Blaise shrugs. Maybe it is. He doesn’t exactly know what his mother has planned for him. Maybe she will arrange a marriage for him or he is expected to find six different women to marry who will mysteriously pass away and then he will get their dowries and continue living his life with no strings attached. 

Maybe Pansy will be wife number three. She is, he thinks amusingly, bound to make the list and infiltrate his life eventually. Their master bedroom would probably be covered in pink. 

“Blaise…” she is waiting for him to say something else. 

It is his job to calm her down and tell her how wonderful she is. She is staring at him, eyes wet and lower lip trembling. He touches his wand again ready to hex the group of first years but they are gone. 

The common room is dark and he can barely make out an outline of her. He slides to the side of his seat and pats the empty space next to him, signaling for Pansy to sit down and join him. She does and he turns to face her, an expressionless look on his face. 

“Some day someone great is going to come along,” he says, lying through his teeth. “They’re going to appreciate you and spoil you with gifts and Malfoy will—“

But he doesn’t get to say what he wants to about Draco. Pansy promptly leans in and kisses him. The kiss is salty and wet from her tears. His lips are dry and cracked. He isn’t sure if he is supposed to touch her or tilt his head to the left or right. 

Blaise never kissed a girl before. 

As their lips press together he wonders if this is what love is. If it meant giving a girl a dry kiss to comfort her in the middle of the night that lacked any ounce of feeling. 

-x-

Lately, Draco was always fidgeting. It was as if his one true friend was a million miles away, lost in another country. Blaise knew he was lost in his mind. Most nights he finds Draco pacing the common room, back and forth, back and forth, in a frenzy. Most of the time his eyes are red and he’s mumbling incoherent things to himself about a task and failure. 

He does not let Blaise know what’s going on in his life. Truly, Blaise is not sure he wants to know anyway. He knows Draco is caught up in wanting to outshine Potter. To bring his family to greatness and follow in his father’s footsteps of being a Death Eater. Whether he has the mark or not, Blaise does not know but at sixteen he would not be surprised. He himself believes in blood purity but does not care enough to get stuck in the thick of things. 

Tonight, they are sitting quietly in the astronomy tower because the pacing was getting to Draco. Sometimes Blaise finds a change of scenery is all he needs to finally quiet down and breathe. 

“There’s a rumor going around that you shagged Daphne Greengrass,” Draco says quietly, not even fully acknowledging Blaise. He is staring at the stars while Blaise is glancing at him. 

“It’s not a rumor.” 

Because by sixteen his hormones have gotten the best of him and some nights are far too lonely. Though he feels no real attachment to the girls he gropes in broom cupboards or empty classrooms there is a sense of longing and needing them there. 

“Huh,” is all Draco says in response. 

“Do you believe in love?” Blaise asks quietly, looking away from his friend and staring at the stars. 

The night is crisp and a chill breeze rolls through the tower making the two of them shiver. Asking him the question should embarrass him but Draco is used to Blaise's deep thoughts and out of the blue questions. He appreciates them though he doesn’t say so out right. Blaise is a good distraction. 

Draco doesn’t respond for a good five minutes, leaving Blaise to believe he didn’t hear the question. 

“Love isn’t for Death Eaters,” he says crisply. 

But there is an edge to Draco’s voice and Blaise has spent too many sleepless nights contemplating what love is to really accept that as a final answer. 

He is staring at a cluster of stars in the sky when he says, “I’ve seen the way your parents look at each other. That has to be love.”

Draco snorts in response. “Some good it’s done them. What about your mother? She’s on what, husband number ten?” 

Blaise inhales and exhales deeply. He feels a sharp jab in his chest at the mention of his mother. He wonders if he loves her but Blaise has come to the conclusion if he has to contemplate it he does not. 

“Seven,” he says dryly. “The elusive number eight won’t happen anytime soon.”

Seven, another new ‘Sir’ when Blaise came back from Hogwarts last year. 

“Love is too dangerous for us. A war is coming. Love could get us killed.”

“We weren’t made to love,” Blaise responds thickly. 

“No,” Draco says softly, getting up from where he is sitting. “We were not.”

-x-

It is seventh year and Draco is gone. He is out fighting with Death Eaters and hunting down Harry Potter while Blaise is stuck in the common room alone at night with his thoughts. 

He finds he misses his friend and that is his first glimpse of love. 

Love, Blaise thinks, is missing someone when they are not near. Love is staying up at night and hoping for their survival. 

-x-

The war is over and the Wizarding World is in shambles. There are trials and an endless amount of funerals for people Blaise never gave a second glance at. His side has lost but he was never really on a side anyway. He was more of a semi-neutral bystander. The filth could stay or be removed. 

He is offended that he was questioned even though he left before the final battle came to fruition. Some former classmates treat him like a traitor but he knows he is better than them and smarter than them for leaving before he could be convicted or killed. 

It takes him three weeks to see Draco. At the first sight of him Blaise does a double take. The boy he once knew has turned into a man. Thin, ragged and barely alive. He reads the papers enough to know of the endless trials he experienced but then his acquittal because of Harry Potter. 

“The war is over,” Draco says slowly. 

The two are sitting in black in the gardens of Malfoy manor, rose bushes in bloom and bees buzzing around them. Life has gone on but they are barely living. His mother is off trying to find husband number eight but it has been over a year and she is failing miserably. Her sharp cheekbones, smooth dark skin and long hair no longer appease them. Then again, the name of the Black Widow has been following her for far too long. Men run off, no longer tempted by her allure. 

It is up to Blaise to keep the family going but he does not know how when he barely wants to get out of bed most days. He is stuck in between the old world and the new world with no one to comfort him. 

“What happens now?” Blaise questions quietly. 

“I don’t know.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the bird’s chirp and the bees’ buzz both lost in their own thoughts. 

“I’m going to travel.” He tells Draco he’s going to France, to Italy and then Spain. 

What he is looking for he doesn’t know. Draco doesn’t wish him well but he doesn’t wish him negative thoughts either. Instead, his friend nods his head but there is a glint in his grey eyes, an extra hint of sadness that Blaise feels as well. 

They are connected. They are the only ones who truly understand each other and this time it is Blaise who is willingly leaving Draco alone with his own thoughts. 

\--

There are many women. Some are tan and lean while others are short and stout. There are brunettes, blondes and redheads. All kiss him on both cheeks. They come in and out of his life as he travels from country to country. Some names he can barely pronounce so he calls them all sweetheart. 

He finds the French women are more arrogant than he is and they clash too much but the sex is great. The Italian women talk too fast and are excited about life, about breathing, about everything. 

Then there is Spain. Spain with its tall women with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes. In Spain they are interested in his accent. Some laugh when he speaks and if his skin was lighter he would have blushed over it. Others are merely intrigued about where he comes from and ask too many questions. 

In Spain there is a rotation of women that he sees. He goes to parties and drinks sangria and makes small talk with businessmen who ask him questions about the war even though it has been over for a few years now and he doesn’t know what’s going on back home. Draco doesn’t tell him much in his letters. 

Tonight, he is at some party and the woman he has been sleeping with is beside her husband. Blaise finds he is tired of them all. He gives her a dark look from across the room and grabs a glass of red sangria from a floating tray just as a woman grabs another. 

“I’ve been watching you from across the room,” she says loudly. 

Blaise can’t tell if she’s had too much to drink or if that’s just how she speaks. Her brown hair is flowing down her back freely and her skin is tan and glowing. 

“Like what you see?” he asks. This is how it always starts. The back and forth, the witty exchange and then they are ripping off their clothes and tumbling into bed. 

“Come with me,” she says, giving him a lopsided smile. 

He grabs her hand and wordlessly follows her through the small party they are at. They walk through a group of men who are talking animatedly and down several corridors before she pulls him into a deserted room with intricate gold tapestries and wicker furniture. She sits him down in a chair across from her and grabs a dark hand. Compared to each other, skin to skin, they are night and day. She grabs his face and kisses his cheeks. 

“I don’t even know you,” he says to her, looking into her brown eyes. “I won’t sleep with you.” 

She grins and grips both of his hands, holding them with hers. 

“I’m Isabella and you’re Blaise Zabini.” He gives her a look. “What? People talk. It’s alright.”

She begins kissing his cheeks again and then his neck. Blaise starts to feel heat build up in his linen pants and tries to fight the urge to kiss her red lips. 

“Why are you kissing me? You don’t even know me.”

Isabella smiles. “You’re too sad, lonely. The sadness follows you everywhere. Just relax.” 

Blaise closes his eyes and lets her hands roam his face and chest. In seconds he is kissing her but it goes no further than that. For the first time in a long time Blaise feels something more. A fire, a warm feeling in his belly. 

It is new and it is exciting. 

-x-

It takes a month. They are in bed, half-naked, and he wants to leave. Sex hasn’t happened yet even though Blaise wants it too but Isabella is from a religious family and does not believe in sex before marriage. 

She is topless with a satin black sheet covering her. She places her hand on the top of his freshly shaved head and stares at him with a wordless expression. 

“It’s over. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” she questions lightly. Her brown eyes are sparkling, pleading with him to think things over. 

Before Blaise can respond a tawny owl flew through the open window, dropping a letter on his nightstand. He ignores Isabella who repeats her question again, stretching towards him to look at him. 

Instead, Blaise gets up and unrolls the parchment on his nightstand, eyes quickly soaking in the words. 

_Blaise_

__

__

_I met someone. Her name is Astoria._

He drops it shakily and turns back to face the woman in his bed sitting cross legged with her head resting on her arms. 

“Why does it have to be over when it has barely begun?”

He can hardly pay attention to what she is saying. What does this mean? He met a woman. Draco met a woman. Is it possible? Is it possible that he can feel love and explain the concept to Blaise?

“We’re night and day,” he says thickly. 

“You love me.” 

He gives her a look, startled by her words. “I don’t know what love is,” he says quietly. “Zabini’s don’t love.” 

She frowns and wraps her arms around her body. “Do you know who your father is?”

He glares at her, anger simmering inside of him. “That’s not the best beside manner you have there,” he snaps. 

Isabella rolls her eyes and purses her lips but doesn’t apologize. “Blaise—“

“No. It could have been any one of her husbands. My mother wasn’t exactly faithful to any of them and none of them were strangers. Maybe it was number one or two. It could have been number seven. Or maybe it was none of them.”

Sometimes Blaise thinks about his father. Who he could be? Was he one of the many Sir’s in his life or an entirely different human being? 

Isabella sits quietly in her thoughts before slowly saying, “And Zabini is your mother’s maiden name?”

Blaise nods his head. “Yes.”

“A boy needs his father’s name,” she says hotly. “A boy needs his father. If you don’t know who he is how do you know you’re not capable of love? You’re half Zabini and half so-and-so.”

He grins at the thought of that, the unknown. He has never looked at it that way before. Who says he is like Zahara besides Zahara herself? They might resemble each other, both have high cheekbones, dark smooth skin, and act like everyone else is beneath them but has Blaise learned that on his own or was he inspired by her, wanting to mirror the one parent he has in his life? 

“I could be biracial.” 

“You could be so many things,” Isabella says with a soft smile. “But why don’t you just be yourself?”

“What are you saying?”

She shrugs. “Maybe there’s a part of you that can’t love but there’s another part of you that can. That other half is all I need. I can love you enough to make up for the missing part.”

Blaise says nothing as he walks over to the bed and leans over to kiss her softly on the lips. It would be hours before he would respond to Draco’s letter. A quick scrawl, barely legible in case he regretted it. 

_Draco,_

__

__

I met a woman. She is remarkable. 

_BZ_

-x-

There are sparks flying over them and light chattering as Isabella kisses him again and again. He can’t help but smile as he wraps his arms around her. It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining and he is surrounded by a small group of people, they are mostly Isabella’s family but now they are his. His mother did not show up. Her invitation was sent back with one sentence: 

I am disappointed in you.

He finds he does not mind Zahara is not there. He does not want the Black Widow to cast a shadow over his new marital bliss. 

Marriage, Blaise knows, is not easy. It takes more than a vow to keep a couple together but Isabella is the missing piece in his life. 

Love, Blaise finds, is remarkable.


End file.
